


Chilled

by youdidnotseeme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slice of Life, Ugly Sweaters, even though hux was the reason this all started, give him all of your layers, going to the post office, hux saves the day, kylo ren can't get warm, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 22:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youdidnotseeme/pseuds/youdidnotseeme
Summary: Kylo has a clothing obsession. Kylo has to go to the post office. Kylo has a deep conversation with Millicent.





	Chilled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgerowhag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerowhag/gifts).



> A fic inspired by conversations with hedgerowhag. Come throw stones at me on twitter @ydnsm1

  
  


Kylo stares at his long, white, toes, splayed on the hardwood floor. The black of his leggings make his skin look nearly fluorescent in the low light. Carmine polish is sloppily applied across nine toes, courtesy of an entirely inebriated Hux last Saturday. Hux had claimed that no skill was required to apply paint to nails and had insisted on doing them despite neither of them wearing nail polish. After a drunken walk to the local drugstore, five minutes of hissing back and forth about the appropriate shade to purchase, Hux had sat on Kylo’s legs and proceeded to shakily paint until falling asleep halfway through the ninth toe.

 

Kylo can’t bring himself to remove the polish. 

 

A draft sneaks in through the single paned window and he shivers, arms covered in goosebumps. It knocks him out of his staring contest with his feet and he lifts himself from the bed and its residual warmth. Hux keeps reminding him about the various methods that could be used to address the chill seeping in, but Kylo is obstinate about the home improvement despite being weak to the cold; he likes to think it wakes him up. Kylo runs one foot up and down the back of a leg, eying a particular drawer on his side of the bureau.

 

The weather is cold, the season is changing, and the sky is the wrong color. He needs to indulge himself a little and shake himself out of his inertia. And get warm. Warmth is important. He walks to the closet. One side is crammed with his clothing, multiple lumps of fabric straining from hangers and trying to escape from shelves, the other is starkly minimal and neat. Hux even has the hangers spaced equally. Kylo shoves the offending hangers to one side and plucks a plain black silk camisole, dreary in its lack of texture or decoration, but practical in protecting his chest from the bite of wool and chafe of cotton. 

 

Next he pulls out a mid thigh length, black, hooded sweatshirt dress. Two studios ago, an oddly endearing old neighbor who had taken a shine to him and had made it their mission to supply him with vegetables he rarely ate and fresh bread he consumed immediately, had eyed his unsightly attempts at sewing and scoffed loudly. Claiming his attempts were an eyesore, they had stated loudly while thinking their bent cane on the ground that they were going to make him a proper dress of similar style. For free. Kylo had kept trying to awkwardly shove crumbled twenties under their door, only to find them shoved back under his own. The dress fit perfectly despite no measurements being taken. The dress has been worn to softness, an unidentifiable shade of gray black, and has more than a few cigarette holes. But it is a perfect under layer. It is also one of the few items he has that is long enough to cover his ass. 

 

He walks back to the dresser and pulls the drawer open, smiling at the contents. This drawer contains all of his favorite items that are not meant for everyday wear. Typically he drapes himself in shades of black and grey, clothing bought whenever found in a wearable size and bearable style. The only color comes from his leg warmers which are bought in as many shades of pastel as Kylo can find. This drawer is special though.  These are the items that are rescued from the pits of musty thrift shops, purchased with spite from overcharging Etsy merchants, begged off of enabling grandmas that think it’s ‘just darling’ that he appreciates such things.

 

Arranged by color and folded as neatly as possible, is an assortment of soft grey and black fabric decorated in a way most people would call garish or tacky, likely also grousing about the unwearableness of the delicate beads and embroidery. The first item chosen is a black knit sweater a size too small for him. He doesn’t care that the sleeves only just reach his wrists and barely below his navel because the sweater is perfect and it’s him that is too large. Kylo grumbles under his breath about being an unfortunate, ungainly giant and holds up the sweater to look at it fondly. Both sleeves are heavily embroidered with snarls of thorny rose bushes in grey brown thread, the vines stretching to mid arm. The bright red rose blossoms are done in a thicker thread, the tips of the petals decorated with small pearlescent beads. 

The sweater is carefully pulled over his head, caution used to not stretch the wide collar made of rotting red roses stacked on each other, each inner fold artfully stitched in dark burgundy. He smooths the sweater down and considers his next options. His foot taps idly and he grabs a pair of thick, black, wool socks with red toes. They aren’t his longest pair, which are Hux’s favorite, but they do reach to just under his knee. And unlike the majority of his other socks these are chunky knit, the top red section folded down to show off black silk bows on the sides, pinned down by black enamel crows holding cherries in their beaks. Practically can go fuck itself. He will hand wash with the extra care such possessions require. 

 

Kylo stretches, basking in finally feeling almost warm until another draft slips through the room and leaves him covered in goosebumps. He clenches his teeth and opens a different drawer full of items sloppily folded and grabs a black and grey flannel that is ugly but incredibly good at blocking his seemingly ever present chill. The sweater is removed, flannel buttoned up, sweater pulled back on. Idly working the collar out of the sweater he reaches back into the other drawer and grabs the last two items he was wanting. The first is a set of black arm warmers heavily embroidered with small red roses around the finger holes, the half fingers themselves being of a light meshwork that extended to his knuckle. Had no flannel been put on, the space between arm warmers and sweater would leave a small section of barely covered flesh that allows the cold to lick at him. Kylo arranges the layers: arm warmer, flannel shirt, sweater.

 

The last item is a chunky, wide knit black snood, distressed fabric stiff enough to stand around his neck and shoulders and easily hide his chin. The ragged bottom of the wrap drapes to chest level. Without the hood up, it looks exactly like one of his regularly worn wool scarves. Kylo may have a small obsession with black scarves, or ‘black rags’ as Hux likes to refer to them. ‘Shrouds’ he hides in like some mourning widow. ‘Comforting’ Kylo always snipes back. Kylo pulls the hood up.

 

With main layers applied he leaves the room, pushing off from the door frame and sliding on the scuffed wood floor the last few feet to the living room. He smirks to himself at his childish behavior. Millicent lifts her head from her place on the threadbare grey couch and stares dispassionately at him. 

 

‘Don’t judge me.’

 

The cat yawns before curling back onto herself and returning to her nap.

 

Kylo shivers, the cold creeping in through his feet. The thick black curtains hanging stiffly over every window seem to be doing nothing to fight the nagging chill. He quickly returns to his room and grabs a second pair of socks. Awkwardly walking and pulling up the second layer of sock, he sights his black knit wool button up sweater, undecorated but large enough to fit properly, hanging off of the couch. His stiff fingers work the buttons as he squints at the neatly stacked pile of mail on the coffee table. Next to, and certainly not on the mail, is one of Hux’s black mugs and a fluorescent pink post-it. Kylo crosses through the dusty gloom of the living room, deftly maneuvering around mismatching furniture and sloppily stacked piles of newspapers while gritting his teeth.

 

Kylo ignores the mug and forces himself to thumb through the mail, most of which in his name is junk mail, but as always there is an assortment of mail for previous tenants that come despite Kylo having yelled at the post office and living at the address for three years. Kylo finally eyes the mug, mouth pinched, and looks in. Predictably, Hux has left his mostly empty mug and it’s soggy, unsettling teabag. Kylo nearly gags as he reaches in and plucks the teabag out. He’s discussed this with Hux, he’s pled and he’s yelled, for Hux to put his nasty mugs of stale black tea and their disgusting bags in the kitchen. He doesn’t even have to clean them out immediately. Kylo isn’t anal about cleanliness in any form, he just doesn’t want to see the shriveled corpses of Hux’s tea fixation. Additionally, Kylo’s apartment does not come with one of Hux’s ever present assistants, jumping at the bit to assist and whisk away his messes. Nor is it Kylo’s fault he reacts poorly to such a random, commonplace garbage. He stomps over to the door and its haphazard pile of shoes, reaching down to deposit the teabag in one of Hux’s pristine loafers. Kylo gives the shoe a good shake to make sure the bag has settled in the toe. 

 

Kylo returns to the table and the note left on it. Placed to the side is a post office notification of a package. The post-it note is covered in Hux’s messy, uneven scrawl. Hux had mildly flushed when Kylo laughed at his handwriting, spitting out that hand writing anything was a waste of time and resources. 

 

’Saw this on door last night. Needs signature. If you go out, pick this up. I’m not doing it.’ It’s a subtle maneuver on Hux’s part to get Kylo out of the apartment on his day off. A suggestion to leave the apartment and interact with people. ‘Exposure therapy’. Kylo grimaces and pulls his snood up to his nose, muttering about getting plenty of human interaction at the bar he works at.

 

Kylo reaches out for the window and parts the curtains slightly.  Facing him is another glaringly bright post-it note. ‘Don’t feed Millicent regardless of what she says.’ Kylo rolls his eyes as he assess the weather. 

 

The sky is an unending field of grey, the orange of the leaves still clinging to the branches popping vividly. Despite being chilled to the bone always, this is Kylo’s favorite weather and a walk outside might be not entirely terrible. 

 

He looks to the cat. ’But it will probably be terrible, won’t it Millicent. Not that you care at all.’ 

 

Kylo grabs his nice boots from next to the door and reveals a third post-it. ‘Go outside, I don’t want to hear you whine about it.’ To anyone else the note would seem malicious, but from Hux to Kylo it’s not. Most people wouldn’t bother with Kylo in general, especially not long enough to  accept his abhorrence of cellphones, but Hux had just huffed through his nose, huffed out ‘insufferable’ and came back later with a block of eye searing pink post-its and a bundle of fine tipped Sharpies. Finding the pink notes throughout the apartment is the closest Hux can get to texting Kylo, who doesn’t bother responding in kind. He knows full well Hux wouldn’t bother to read them. Kylo does try to leave an excessive amount of crudely drawn penises surrounded by hearts hidden between the leaves of Hux’s ledgers and notebooks. Even going so far as to slip occasional polaroids of his dick or chest in his closed laptop.

 

‘I don’t want to go out there. But I’ll do it for your Dad, the absolute conniving asshole…’

 

Kylo wipes a non existent smudge from the tip of his black boots and admires the finely stitched yellow and red flowers on the toe, the wide laces printed with a similar repeating design that snakes through eighteen holes. 

 

‘I just want to lay on the couch and try and melt into the universe, to be as one with it. Ignore the absolute chaos and shit of the outside world. But no, have to go outside. To the post office of all places.’

 

Boots tied, he grabs the slip of paper and heads for the door. 

 

‘And now that he’s unofficially officially moved in with you and his one suitcase worth of worldly possessions, I HAVE to do this or I’ll never hear the end of it.’

 

He plucks at an errant thread trying to break free from the snood. He rubs the ragged edges between his fingers and levels a firm gaze at the cat.

 

‘Don’t burn the house down or I’ll add you to my ash collection.’

 

Kylo forgoes the elevator and stomps down the dimly lit 13 flights of stairs before pushing the dented, graffiti covered, bottom door open with a foot. He is accosted by the shockingly bright light of the grey sky visible through the towering cage of faceless buildings. He walks at a fast clip, unconsciously stomping on every crack in the sidewalk. He walks past the grimy storefronts reeking of cheap food and overly perfumed products, windows mostly obscured by layers of peeling signs and advertisements. 

 

Most people on the sidewalk drift as far away as possible from Kylo upon first spotting him, if not outright crossing the street. He is too big, too bundled in black and too dead set on his forward trajectory to dare to cross. But a student, obviously playing hooky from school, is cockily walking directly towards him in a lame form of sidewalk chicken. Kylo walks straight into him, elbowing him roughly right off the curb where he lands ankle deep in fetid rain water with a high pitched yelp. Kylo internally smirks.

 

The post office is a ten minute walk away but he makes it in twenty, having to stop for Maz, an elderly woman typically found perched serenely on the steps to her building. The top of her head barely comes up to his chest, but Maz terrifies Kylo in a way he cannot figure out, never daring to harry the old woman. She always wants to poke at his sides, inspect his outfits, inquire about his alleged boyfriend, all the while squinting through massively thick coke-bottle glasses. But like a six sense, she always knows when to let Kylo go before he becomes too anxious and jittery. Maz is one of the few people Kylo can bear.

 

The post office is a messy pile of awkward architecture and grimy glass, the walls of PO boxes looking more like lockers at a columbarium. The ever present line of customers to the counter of beleaguered employees shifts and coughs impatiently, slightly changing configuration when Kylo enters. Kylo walks to the end of it, notification clenched in hand. A draft of cold air slaps across his face and he grimaces. He knows the air-conditioning is probably in fact not on but it sure feels like it. He looks up to the stained vent on the ceiling and sighs heavily through his nose, taps a foot, stretches out the sleeves of his sweater over his scarred knuckles with his thumb. He can hear Hux’s voice in his head telling him to stop fidgeting. He fixes his stare to a poster tacked to the wall cheerily suggesting he purchase stamps proudly featuring various ducks and other marshland wildlife.

 

His attention is draw to a ginger headed child in front of him being reprimanded by his mother, her white talons gripped around one arm. 

 

‘But why is he wearing all of that, Mom?. Why’s he wearing a dress?’

 

The boy is pointing at Kylo. His mother yanks his arm and hisses at the boy. ‘Nicholas, it is rude to stare. Do not make that freak pay attention to us.’

 

Kylo feels a fresh cold wave wash over him and he tugs his scarves under his chin. His head pivots and he stares frostily at the mother and child. The mother shudders, eyes shifting up to look at Kylo and immediately blanches. The child starts to whimper, backs up into his mother’s knees. Her coral lips flatten and she backs up as well, drags her stunned child and hastily makes the sign of the cross while bolting out the door. 

 

‘Next in line, please.’

 

Kylo shakes his head, trudges to the counter and slaps down the package slip. The clerk starts nervously before asking for his ID, still stuttering on the word please as he backs up and down a hallway. A mid-sized box is slid toward him. The tightly cramped writing on the box reveals nothing of its contents or point of origin. Kylo rolls his eyes, sighs at the thought that it was some flimsy and unwanted attempt at mothering from Leia.

 

The air outside the post office is cold but refreshing and Kylo pulls back his hood, shakes out his hair. He gives the box one firm shake, hears nothing fragile rattle and shoves it under his arm. Mood soured, he starts to walk home. He’s already chewed a hole in the side of his mouth before deciding to make a detour to the hole-in-the wall coffee shop shoved between two shuttered storefronts. 

 

The chipper youth behind the counter looks up from their battered smartphone and smiles warmly at him. They turn without word to the teas behind them for a moment before sliding a cup of green tea at Kylo. 

 

‘Oh! I really like your sweater.’ They gesture towards their own chest. ‘Embroidery like that is hard to pull off. Like, it’s totally something my grandma wears, but you pull it off really well.’ The youth and Kylo blink once at each other, awkward silence ringing loudly. With a nervous, too high laugh they stutter out, ‘Just a large Chinese green tea, yeah?’

 

Kylo nods stiffly and hands them a five. Tea in hand, he’s already turned towards the condiment bar when he hears them ask if he wants his change. Kylo doesn’t turn but does shake his head in the negative. Five packets of raw sugar, two heavy pours of cream and Kylo is stirring his drink, a state of blissful blankness finally reached as he watches his woven net encased fingers maneuvering the wooden stir stick through the unnameable color of his tea. He remembers Hux’s face had pinched so hard at Kylo’s drink that Kylo barked out a harsh laugh,’absolutely appalling and not even remotely tea any longer. I refuse to be seen with you.’ Kylo’s reverie is shaken by a man in sharp yet tacky grey suit who is fussily shoving condiments left and right in search of something. He elbows Kylo, leaning into his personal space, loudly talking. The blurry shapes of his words take focus and Kylo finally realizes he’s being addressed. 

 

‘Are you even paying attention? I asked you if there was any more honey.’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Honey. Are you high? H-O-N-E-Y. God, the service here sucks. All of you weirdos are so lazy. Where’s your manager…’ Kylo is watching the man’s mouth flap open and closed.

 

‘I don’t work here.’

 

The man doesn’t hear him or doesn’t bother to listen, too caught up in ranting his displeasure, his uncapped coffee being waved around for emphasis. He makes to grab Kylo by the shoulder to emphasize a point and Kylo slaps it away angrily with one wool encased hand. He bites his tongue to stop himself from knocking the contents of the counter to the floor and bludgeoning the man with the fingerprint smudged cream pitcher.

 

‘I DO NOT FUCKING WORK HERE.’

 

The man jolts back in shock, hand gripping his cup popping up and sending his uncapped coffee right onto Kylo. The hot coffee soaks immediately through his layers, provides an immediate sensation of warm that flips next into the twinge of burning. Coffee drips slowly onto the ground.

 

Dead silence covers the entire store except for the slow drip of coffee onto cracked concrete flooring. A piece of cutlery is dropped and clangs on the floor. Someone coughs. The man gapes like a dying fish, caught completely off guard by his action. Kylo ignores the barista who is rushing to him with a towel and a horror stricken face. He caps his tea, picks his package from off the floor and walks quietly outside. Kylo’s limbs are stiff in his attempts to tamp down the rage spiking through his veins. Every fiber of his body is screaming for violence, and then he sees the car. A shiny, black BMW gleams in front of him. It’s parked illegally and right up on the front bumper of the car behind it. He thinks back to the gaping mouth and the key fob poking out of a pocket. The tea and package are set down and his fist makes a visible dent in the hood of the car. The car alarm goes off. Nobody comes outside to address it.

 

Somehow Kylo manages to reach his apartment with both his tea and package only slightly looking worse for wear. He kicks the door closed with enough force to rattle the windows. Millicent bolts from the couch hissing. Not bothering to remove any of his sodden and clinging layers or to inspect the burn, Kylo slides onto the couch, booted feet still on the floor. He blindly grabs the oversized throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over himself. He breathes through his nose and shuts his eyes, focuses on the texture of the familiar, much beloved blanket over his face and not the clinging, freezing wet fabric attacking his body, the itchiness of his hair caught in the corner of his mouth, the blaring of car horns stuck in traffic outside, the roiling caustic anger pulsing through his veins. He grunts when Millicent jumps on his crotch, feels her gingerly crossing his body until reaching his chest. She plops down and starts purring. 

 

Kylo mutters a muffled thank you and she hisses at him.

 

The door’s lock turning wakes Kylo from his unintended nap and he hears Millicent chirp before rolling over to start kneading on his chest. Footsteps approach. 

 

‘Now this is quite a scene to come back to. My two partners sleeping with one another.’

 

The blanket is pulled down and Kylo squints at Hux. ‘Your feet aren’t even on the couch.’

 

Kylo grumbles something and burrows his face into the couch.

 

‘You are patently ridiculous, you know that?’ Hux sits down next to him and lifts each leg to remove Kylo’s boots. ‘These are rather cute though, in a terribly tacky sort of way. I see why you wouldn’t want to take them off.’ Hux gently places them to the side, always careful of his and Kylo’s things. He rubs Kylo’s doubly socked foot, ankle and calf before frowning.

 

‘Why are you wet?’

 

‘Some asshole spilled hot coffee on me.’ 

 

Hux’s hand tightens.

 

‘I didn’t do anything.’

 

The hand tightens again.

 

‘Okay I punched the hood of his fancy fucking car but nothing came of it.’

 

The hand pats his knee before continuing its path up the wet thigh. Hux shifts his arms to brace the back and side of the couch, caging Kylo in. He leans down and kisses him, bites his chapped lip gently. He rests his chin on Kylo’s, his red stubble rough on Kylo’s face. Kylo looks at Hux’s anemic features and his eerily glass like eyelashes; he waits to experience Hux’s ire at his public outburst, waits to hear about the cost for damages once he’s been located.

 

‘Your restraint surprises me. I’m proud of you.’

 

Kylo melts into the couch at the praise, face flushing. The hood of his snood slips down to his nose. Blindly he unearths a hand and cups the side of Hux’s face, thumb rubbing a pristinely groomed sideburn. Hux turns his head and bites the thumb before slowly taking it into his mouth, runs the flat of his tongue along the rough side of it before receding. Kylo shivers.

 

‘Would I could, darling, I would have stabbed him twice for damaging my property. Especially since ‘spilled’ seems to mean ‘doused’ as you are thoroughly wet. Now, let me get these layers off of you.’ Hux pulls Kylo up and scoots back once they are both sitting upright on the couch. Layers are removed and dropped to the floor with little care.  Hux makes Kylo stand to remove his hooded sweater dress, and frowns at it; the bottom half of the fabric is heavy with spilled coffee. He rises to throw the soiled garments into the sink. Kylo sits on the couch and stares at the coffee stained damp spot he has left on the couch and wishes he had wrapped his hands around that asshole’s throat. 

 

Hux returns to the couch and pinches a peeked nipple through the camisole to regain Kylo’s attention.

 

‘Ow.’

 

‘Right. I’m quite sure.’

 

Kylo shakes his head and tosses his hair out of his eyes while hiding a smirk. 

 

‘Oh, sorry.’ He makes to get up, one hand on the waistband of his leggings when Hux shoves him back down onto the couch.

 

‘I said I was doing that.’

 

Kylo swallows as Hux slides back further on the couch, lifting Kylo’s legs over his shoulders. Kylo feels his face burning from the awkward position and from how ridiculous he must look, stocking covered legs spread to expose his crotch, rucked up camisole doing a poor job of covering anything, his grossly large frame shoved into one end of the couch.

 

‘I see you have a small hole here,’ Hux pokes at the middle of the crotch of his leggings. The black fabric is stretched taut over Kylo’s soft cock, and Hux digs his thumb into Kylo’s sack through the opaque fabric. He gropes Kylo with a full palm appreciatively for a minute before suddenly putting both hands on the crotch of Kylo’s leggings, one finger dug into the tear, and pulling viciously. The leggings rip loudly. 

 

‘I was going to mend those,’ Kylo pants heavily, face beet red.

 

‘I’ll buy you another pair.’ Hux leans down to catch Kylo’s mouth as he snakes a hand in and strokes Kylo’s lace covered cock, working it roughly until it starts to harden. Hux pulls back, stretches his neck to the side until it pops and looks at the damage he’s caused. ‘Oh, the lavender ones. These are one of my favorites.’ Hux leans back further to get a better view of his already rather wrecked boyfriend. Kylo’s hair is a wild mess, strands stuck to his face, red lips parted as he takes in raspy breaths. His large body is shoved into one end of the couch, shoved and allowed to be manhandled at Hux’s discretion. Kylo is shivering in his black camisole that does nothing to hide his peaked nipples. Hux’s favorite sight though, and possibly a new favorite, is Kylo’s spread legs stretching over his shoulders, the torn crotch of his leggings gaping to reveal lace panties straining to hold back a hard leaking cock. 

 

Hux kisses the damp side of the leg closest to him. ‘You only wear these when you’re in a decent mood or are stuck in some form melancholy funk. I have a good idea of which it is, but I am certainly going to make it the other in short order.’ Hux lifts Kylo’s legs from his shoulders, lowering them slowly, letting go only once they’ve wrapped tightly around his middle. He moves forward to catch Kylo’s mouth once more, making sure to grind his own erection against Kylo’s, each forward slide causing Kylo’s breath to hitch and his legs to shiver and tighten their already vice like grip. Hux runs his tongue over Kylo’s, moves it to drag along the sharp ridges of his uneven lower teeth. He continues the kiss until the soft body below his is fidgeting, trying to breathe through his nose, and Hux himself starts to feel dizzy from lack of air. They part mouths and gasp for breath. Kylo darts up to bite Hux’s lip. 

 

‘Nice. Can you rip the rest of my wet clothes off and fuck me now?’

 

‘I’m certainly going to.’ Hux grips Kylo’s hips roughly. ‘But these are staying on. I’m going to fuck you through this tear and with your panties shoved to the side.’

 

Kylo’s mouth falls open. Rendered speechless he flops back on to the couch. He takes a few controlled breaths before smirking up at Hux.

 

‘Get to it then, you know how I don’t like waiting.’ 

 

—-

 

One slow and thorough fucking and a hot shower later, they are back on the couch. Hux is running his fingers through Kylo’s damp hair, massaging his scalp and enjoying feeling Kylo become more and more limp, closer to sleep. 

 

‘What’s in the package?’

 

Hux blinks, eyes shifting to the battered box sitting on the coffee table. 

 

‘Oh, it’s for you. A little something.’

 

‘What? Why?’

 

‘Why not?’

 

Kylo huffs contrarily and sleepily rises to grab the box. 

 

‘Open that carefully.’

 

Kylo rolls his eyes and peels the tape up with his fingers. Box finally open, he moves the black tissue paper out of the way and freezes.

 

‘Hux.’

 

Hux motions with his shoulder for Kylo to keep going. 

 

‘I can’t believe this.’ Kylo holds the massive dark cardigan up before bringing it closer to eye the details with wide eyes. It is finely knit but very thick, having a significant weight to it. The neck of the cardigan is of a wider knit, as are the arms, but more importantly each arm from three quarters of the way down, ends in long tight sleeves embroidered with battered light grey fences half concealed by ragged plants. The embroidery is so detailed that there are individual cracks and holes visible. The plants creeping up to weave in and out of the slats. The pattern is continued on each main panel of the cardigan but is larger and even more detailed, a handful of finely detailed crows with gleaming red eyes perching on it. Visible in shinier thread under the fence are skeletal remains of humans rendered in exacting, anatomical detail. Above the crows is a night sky of clouds in dark purples and blues, with a crescent moon in bone white. Half of the scattered stars are small pearlescent beads, a particular variant of detail that Kylo adores. The dark brass buttons are decorated with black urns. 

 

Kylo stands silently and carefully puts it on. The cardigan is long enough to hit his upper thigh. 

 

‘I’ve heard your complaints, endlessly in fact, about what a struggle it is to find your gaudy clothing in your size, so I had this made.’

 

Kylo flings himself at Hux and straddles his lap with a snarl. Hux grunts at the sudden weight of a clinging body pressed roughly and flush up  against him. Kylo nuzzles him and sighs. 

 

‘Thank you.’

  
  



End file.
